


I wrote a story about Eliza Hamilton before I watched Hamilton then edited it to be about the musical years later

by FionnaAndCakeCosplay



Series: Hamilton Stories [1]
Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gen, I Wrote This Two Years Ago, M/M, Multi, Written for a Class, before I rewrote this to be about the musical it was an original story, includes a fictional letter, rewritten years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionnaAndCakeCosplay/pseuds/FionnaAndCakeCosplay
Summary: The title says it all folks.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Alexander Hamilton's Children, Alexander Hamilton & Angelica Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Angelica Schuyler & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler & Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler
Series: Hamilton Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206077
Kudos: 4





	1. The Unofficial Hamilton "Sequel" (Written before I watched Hamilton/based on history)

It was a hot day in July, a few days after my husband, Alexander, died. I was in agony from all of the grief I had felt those last few days. It was tearing me up inside.

I had just sat down at my desk to write in my diary when my red-headed two-year-old son, Phillip, pulled at my light purple skirt. I looked down at him and said, “What’s the matter, dear?”

“Mama, when will Papa come home?” he asked quietly, tears glistening in his eyes and threatening to spill over the edge at any moment.

I picked him up and pulled him close to my chest in a tight hug, tears streaming from my eyes. “He’s not coming home.” 

A waterfall of tears began to pour from his beautiful brown eyes. “Why not?”

I released him from the hug and looked at his poor, tear-stained face. “He can’t.”

I explained what death is to Phillip for about an hour before we got up to have supper. We cleaned ourselves up with the pitcher in my bedroom and went to the dining hall. 

my grief and pain lessened slowly. My two oldest children left to make homes of their own. My sister Angelica, who’d been helping me in my time of need, went back home as well. I started to see my friends more often. 

Little by little, a new normal evolved… until one day, my 14-year-old son, John Church, and I were going through Alexander’s old things.

John and I began to go through some letters. I felt a bit guilty, but I craved any link to Alexander. Most of the letters were what you’d expect: A few were from me, a few were from friends (?) such as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, a few were letters for work he had written but never sent. Suddenly, we came across some letters that were... different.

“Dear Alexander,” I read aloud, “You are very good at what you do. I would love to come and watch you work sometime. Maybe we could have a little--” I gasped, “fun afterward.” 

I skimmed the rest of the letter but stopped when I got to the signature at the bottom. “Love from… Angelica!?” 

I thought for a moment. “My sister?!” I exclaimed. 

Was Angelica having an affair with my husband?!

We riffled through a few more of the letters that had nothing strange about them. But then we came across something that I never thought I would find. 

I read a bit of the letter. What I saw would stay with me for the rest of my life.

“Oh, my heavens!” I cried, dropping the letter I had in my hand.

John looked over at me in surprise. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

I said nothing and handed him the letter.

“John Laurens

12 Bull Street, Charleston, SC

April 9, 1779

Dear Alexander, 

I hope you are well. I’m doing well. My troops and I are in good health and spirits. We have lost a few men, but that is to be expected in a war. 

To answer your question in the last letter, yes, I do think you could find a wife. You see, you are quite handsome. You could make anyone fall in love with you, even a man! In fact, I think you have. In other words, I have fallen for you, Alexander. I know it is wrong. I know it is a crime. But I do not care! I love you, Alexander Hamilton! And I do not care who knows! Do you love me as well? If you do, I hope we can find a way to make this work. In another world, we could hold each other near. In another world, I could call you dear. In another world, we could be wed. In another world, we could share the same bed. Someday, after the revolution, I hope we can be together, even if we both have to marry women and our love is secret. 

In other news, my company is having a dance on the 22nd of April. Would you like to accompany me? There will be food and drink, dancing, and many other things to do.

Hopefully, I will see you at the dance! Best wishes to you and your troops.

With love, 

John Laurens.“

As soon as we finished reading the letter, I began to feel a little woozy. When I tried to step out of the room, I fainted in the doorway.

I awoke a few hours later in my bed with John leaning over me. “Are you alright, Mama?”

“I’ll be fine, John.” I smiled slightly. “I suppose that letter was a bit much for me.”

The next night, as I was in my bed-chamber getting ready to retire for the night, I sensed a presence behind me. 

“Who’s there?” I asked slightly nervously.

“Eliza! It’s me!” said an extremely familiar voice.

I turned around to see my husband sitting on the small ottoman that I kept by my door. “Alexander!” I cried.

“Yes!”

I took a moment to look at him. He had a blue-grey ghostly tail, but other than that, he was my Alexander. Red hair tied back with a black ribbon and eyes as green as a meadow in the spring.

“What were those letters?!” I demanded. I tried repeatedly to hit him with the fan from my desk, but it went right through him.

“Oh… right… the letters… Which letters in particular?”

“The Angelica and John Laurens letters... “ I trailed off.

We stared at each other for a moment in silence before Alexander spoke up.

“I just want to start by saying that the letters were before I met you.” His voice started to shake a little. “They were--”

I cut him off. “They were suggestive!!”

“I was going to say… real. Please don’t get upset with me.”

“EVEN THE ONE FROM ANGELICA!?” I said as loudly as I could without waking the entire household.

“Angelica? Oh, right.” He brushed a stray hair from his eye. “She sent me a letter that I never responded to.”

I stared at and almost through him blankly. I thought, “Was Angelica trying to steal my husband?!! Was my husband seeing a man behind my back?!”

I don’t remember anything else from that night. I remember waking up in my bed the next morning in a cold sweat as if I had had a terrible nightmare. I was scared and confused, but I had a strange and sudden urge to do something good.

I spent the next few weeks contemplating what to do with what I was feeling. After a lot of thought, I decided to try and stay busy by helping people.

I started to donate to charities more often. I volunteered at children’s homes and schools. I gave food to starving people on the street. It felt good to do something for the world. 

After about a year and a half of charity work, I had the idea to try and co-found an orphanage with a few of my friends, Isabella Graham, Sarah Hoffman, and Joanna Bethune.

While sitting at my kitchen table, going over building plans for the orphanage, I thought I saw Alexander outside the window, floating in my petunias, just out of the corner of my eye. I thought I saw him a few times during construction as well. He even showed up for the grand opening. That I am sure of. I saw him, plain as day, standing in the crowd, smiling at me.

The orphanage did well and lasted for many years. I lived a long and good life of 97 years.


	2. The Unofficial Hamilton "Sequel" (Rewritten after I watched Hamilton/based on the musical)

It was a hot day in July, a few days after my husband, Alexander, died. I was in agony from all of the grief I had felt those last few days. It was tearing me up inside.

I had just sat down at my desk to write in my diary when my brunette two-year-old son, Phillip, pulled at my light blue skirt. I looked down at him and said, “What’s the matter, dear?”

“Mama, when will Papa come home?” he asked quietly, tears glistening in his eyes and threatening to spill over the edge at any moment.

I picked him up and pulled him close to my chest in a tight hug, tears streaming from my eyes. “He’s not coming home.” 

A waterfall of tears began to pour from his beautiful brown eyes. “Why not?”

I released him from the hug and looked at his poor, tear-stained face. “He can’t.”

I explained what death is to Phillip for about an hour before we got up to have supper. We cleaned ourselves up with the pitcher in my bedroom and went to the dining hall. 

my grief and pain lessened slowly. My two oldest children left to make homes of their own. My sister Angelica, who’d been helping me in my time of need, went back home as well. I started to see my friends more often. 

Little by little, a new normal evolved… until one day, my 14-year-old son, John Church, and I were going through Alexander’s old things.

John and I began to go through some letters. I felt a bit guilty, but I craved any link to Alexander. Most of the letters were what you’d expect: A few were from me, a few were from friends or coworkers such as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, a few were letters for work he had written but never sent. Suddenly, we came across some letters that were... different.

“Dear Alexander,” I read aloud, “You are very good at what you do. I would love to come and watch you work sometime. Maybe we could have a little--” I gasped, “fun afterward.” 

I skimmed the rest of the letter but stopped when I got to the signature at the bottom. “Love from… Angelica!?” 

I thought for a moment. “My sister?!” I exclaimed. 

Was Angelica having an affair with my husband?!

We riffled through a few more of the letters that had nothing strange about them. But then we came across something that I never thought I would find. 

I read a bit of the letter. What I saw would stay with me for the rest of my life.

“Oh, my heavens!” I cried, dropping the letter I had in my hand.

John looked over at me in surprise. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

I said nothing and handed him the letter.

“John Laurens

12 Bull Street, Charleston, SC

April 9, 1779

Dear Alexander, 

I hope you are well. I’m doing well. My troops and I are in good health and spirits. We have lost a few men, but that is to be expected in a war. 

To answer your question in the last letter, yes, I do think you could find a wife. You see, you are quite handsome. You could make anyone fall in love with you, even a man! In fact, I think you have. In other words, I have fallen for you, Alexander. I know it is wrong. I know it is a crime. But I do not care! I love you, Alexander Hamilton! And I do not care who knows! Do you love me as well? If you do, I hope we can find a way to make this work. In another world, we could hold each other near. In another world, I could call you dear. In another world, we could be wed. In another world, we could share the same bed. Someday, after the revolution, I hope we can be together, even if we both have to marry women and our love is secret. 

In other news, my company is having a dance on the 22nd of April. Would you like to accompany me? There will be food and drink, dancing, and many other things to do.

Hopefully, I will see you at the dance! Best wishes to you and your troops.

With love, 

John Laurens.“

As soon as we finished reading the letter, I began to feel a little woozy. When I tried to step out of the room, I fainted in the doorway.

I awoke a few hours later in my bed with John leaning over me. “Are you alright, Mama?”

“I’ll be fine, John.” I smiled slightly. “I suppose that letter was a bit much for me.”

The next night, as I was in my bed-chamber getting ready to retire for the night, I sensed a presence behind me. 

“Who’s there?” I asked slightly nervously.

“Eliza! It’s me!” said an extremely familiar voice.

I turned around to see my husband sitting on the small ottoman that I kept by my door. “Alexander!” I cried.

“Yes!”

I took a moment to look at him. He had a blue-grey ghostly tail, but other than that, he was my Alexander. Brown hair tied back with a black ribbon and eyes as green as a meadow in the spring.

“What were those letters?!” I demanded. I tried repeatedly to hit him with the fan from my desk, but it went right through him.

“Oh… right… the letters… Which letters in particular?”

“The Angelica and John Laurens letters... “ I trailed off.

We stared at each other for a moment in silence before Alexander spoke up.

“I just want to start by saying that the letters were before I met you.” His voice started to shake a little. “They were--”

I cut him off. “They were suggestive!!”

“I was going to say… real. Please don’t get upset with me.”

“EVEN THE ONE FROM ANGELICA!?” I said as loudly as I could without waking the entire household.

“Angelica? Oh, right.” He brushed a stray hair from his eye. “She sent me a letter that I never responded to.”

I stared at and almost through him blankly. I thought, “Was Angelica trying to steal my husband?!! Was my husband seeing a man behind my back?!”

I don’t remember anything else from that night. I remember waking up in my bed the next morning in a cold sweat as if I had had a terrible nightmare. I was scared and confused, but I had a strange and sudden urge to do something good.

I spent the next few weeks contemplating what to do with what I was feeling. After a lot of thought, I decided to try and stay busy by helping people.

I started to donate to charities more often. I volunteered at children’s homes and schools. I gave food to starving people on the street. It felt good to do something for the world. 

After about a year and a half of charity work, I had the idea to try and co-found an orphanage with a few of my friends, Isabella Graham, Sarah Hoffman, and Joanna Bethune.

While sitting at my kitchen table, going over building plans for the orphanage, I thought I saw Alexander outside the window, floating in my petunias, just out of the corner of my eye. I thought I saw him a few times during construction as well. He even showed up for the grand opening. That I am sure of. I saw him, plain as day, standing in the crowd, smiling at me.

The orphanage did well and lasted for many years. I lived a long and good life of 97 years.


End file.
